"Yeah, probably. I dunno." Nate shrugged and looked around, kneeling down and looking under the bed. Finding the cap spinning lazily, he reached underneath and snatched it up. Standing with an amused half-grin, Nate handed the cap to Mandie, a woman that in a very short period of time became his favorite person on the ship. "Here's your thing. You know, that can looks pretty old. You might want to get a new one so it won't explode." Nate's grin persisted as he sat on the bed and opened his guitar case, pulling it out and strumming a chord.
Wonder if they like music?
Nate looked over at the suffering Mandie: "What's your name? What'd'they call you?" Nate started to tune the guitar with an app on his phone, wanting to make sure that it sounded perfect and not trusting his ear to do so. A few of the strings were rusting at the edges, paying homage to the age of the instrument--which indeed LOOKED very old, with its faded wood paneling. Nate looked up again and grinned at her: "I'm Nate Sheffield. They might not've told you."
"Wha...? Oh! No, I just saw some fish down there. I'm not too hungry, thanks." Smiling easily, Nate shoulders his belongings and walks along the promenade, shaking his head. Not the best of introductions... Ah well. More time for that later. If it weren't for that one fellow eavesdropping he'd feel a little more comfortable being here. As it were, he decided to deal with that as soon as he could. Nate nervously taps the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, illegally shuffled in there, just in case. Walking down the promenade, he glances down at the fish again, noticing there was a father and son trying their luck in catching them. Nate's breath hitches, and he looks away quickly.
"Eh... maybe I'll just play." Nate's eyes trailed along the room numbers before finding his, opening the door with his free hand, only to find someone already in here spraying paint all over the place. Watching in dumbfounded fascination, Nate can't help but crack a grin. Laughing, he sets down his case and bag, walking over to Mandie: "Need help, Miss...?"
It was then that Nate truly realized that he was committed. With one singular hefty sigh, he lifted his guitar case and duffel bag up the gangway and boarded the ship. To either side he could see those pretty little faces, all considering this voyage as it were. There was the one woman from before (how the hell did he still remember her?) from the bar. Carmichael's! That was it... Was her name... There was a woman talking to no one in particular, and her name was Calliope, said she. Lovely name, Nate thought; she's a winner, methinks.
But he resolved not to be that one guy ruining it for everyone. No, it had happened too much before, and it wasn't going to happen again. He watched the waves crash against a distant jetty, jutting out into the ocean as if it merely wanted to be noticed. Seagulls stood on every God-damn post available. Nate even saw two fighting over the same one. A misty spray out to see caught his eye, and straining, he could just see a pod of dolphins streaking across the water, no doubt after some sort of fish. Maybe mackerel.
"Mmmackerel..." Nate grinned, staring up at Calliope talking to bar lady. My goodness! She was something, eh?
| Likes | [+]Music, especially acoustic guitar [+]The woods, nature, and fish [+]Writing (though he's not very good at it) [+]Silence [+]The sound of the wind [+]A small stray dog he found and takes with him everywhere [+]His sister's cooking [+]Running (something he has a strange talent for)
| Dislikes | [-]Superficiality [-]Noises repeated over and over again [-]Reading (gets too agitated) [-]Birds [-]Corn [-]The sun when it's just rising [-]People attempting to help him [-]Soccer
| Personality | To say that Nate is antisocial would be to vastly oversimplify a frankly complex issue of the mind. Nate is bitterly sarcastic, to a point that it starts becoming hard to tell whether or not he's kidding. His fatalist look on life has left him hollow and cynical, rejecting all sorts of interpersonal relationships, regardless of whether one had or could have existed.
Spending the majority of his time alone, it would be somewhat surprising for some to find that he can actually be quite sociable if he's in the right mood. To those that only experienced these brief periods of sociality, he appears genial, gregarious, and more or less normal to anyone, if a bit reliant on deadpan sarcasm for his humor. In order to not feel hollow and bitter, however, he sheds this extroverted shell every so often to slink away, alone, and find that everything with him is as bad as it is.
As it is, Nate is primarily regarded as somewhat of an outcast, a failure in the genetic pool of extroverts. The sad fact is that Nate genuinely feels the pull to interact with others, but when he does, he often gets muddled in cynicism, lashing out at anyone who tries to get close to him. Anyone who knows him regards him with suspicion, and anyone who doesn't regards him with the same morbid curiosity one might have over a dying animal. In his disregard of love, he has stopped believing it exists, and it would take something truly miraculous to change that.
| Place Of Origin | Newark, New Jersey
| History | Nate's history is one wrought with self-inflicted pain and heartbreak. To start, he is recovering from a crippling drug addiction started in his waning high school years that both tore him and his family apart. It was near the end of his sophomore year that he first tried marijuana--which was nothing special, he had thought; everyone smokes marijuana at least once in their life. As he casually dabbled in the drug through his junior year, a friend of his introduced him to the wildly erratic effects of prescription pills. Nate tried this for a short time before ditching them, finding the results more trying on his stomach than his mind.
The summer before senior year was when he tried heroin first, and it was at that moment that he truly became an addict. It was at a summer beach house in Chincoteague, Virginia, where the sun was high and warm, the ocean soft and green, and the women were aplenty and willing. This beach house was used extensively by his friends as a drug hideout and mini-harem, and the things that went on behind its wind-washed doors could frighten even the most stalwart of hearts.
Regardless, Nate was hooked, and through senior year he experimented with wildly varying drugs of different qualities. The terrifying effects of PCP forced him to legitimately question whether his addiction was a sustainable habit, but it wasn't until he nearly ruptured a blood vessel from heroin use that his family finally got involved. Aware that something was wrong from the start--missing valuables, $1,634 missing from the bank--his parents instinctively placed him in a rehabilitation hospital, a move he so detested that one night--after a day spent drinking his parents' liquor--he stormed up to his mother and threatened to kill her if she sent him there.
That was the final straw, and his father promptly called the nearest psychiatric hospital, where he was taken away in a strait jacket and kept in solitary confinement for several weeks. Coming out humbled, emasculated, and thoroughly doubting the goodwill of mankind, Nate looked to an outlet. He found one in music. Combined with his natural proclivity for rhythm, he became quite good at the guitar, eventually signing up for night gigs in bars and nightclubs. The little money he made on the side was enough for his parents to begin to forgive him, but they figured he needed something else, something special. So, on his 24th birthday, they gave him a trip with several other people his age from across the world.
"To meet people who you can trust," his mother had said.
"To see the world and experience something magical," his father had said.
The naturally skeptical Nate had replied, "You should look at the tree outside our window."
But he complied, if only to assuage his parents' worry, and with low expectations for the future, he prepares for the next few weeks to be some of the dullest of his life.
| Extra | Nate actually has had several girlfriends, but none of them stayed with him. (Most were too overwhelmed with his issues to do so, and one left him because she thought his friend was better.)
One of the few people Nate loves and respects is his younger sister Phoebe, who was one of the reasons he tried to quit drugs in the first place.
| Likes | [+]Music, especially acoustic guitar [+]The woods, nature, and fish [+]Writing (though he's not very good at it) [+]Silence [+]The sound of the wind [+]A small stray dog he found and takes with him everywhere [+]His sister's cooking [+]Running (something he has a strange talent for)
| Dislikes | [-]Superficiality [-]Noises repeated over and over again [-]Reading (gets too agitated) [-]Birds [-]Corn [-]The sun when it's just rising [-]People attempting to help him [-]Soccer
| Personality | To say that Nate is antisocial would be to vastly oversimplify a frankly complex issue of the mind. Nate is bitterly sarcastic, to a point that it starts becoming hard to tell whether or not he's kidding. His fatalist look on life has left him hollow and cynical, rejecting all sorts of interpersonal relationships, regardless of whether one had or could have existed.
Spending the majority of his time alone, it would be somewhat surprising for some to find that he can actually be quite sociable if he's in the right mood. To those that only experienced these brief periods of sociality, he appears genial, gregarious, and more or less normal to anyone, if a bit reliant on deadpan sarcasm for his humor. In order to not feel hollow and bitter, however, he sheds this extroverted shell every so often to slink away, alone, and find that everything with him is as bad as it is.
As it is, Nate is primarily regarded as somewhat of an outcast, a failure in the genetic pool of extroverts. The sad fact is that Nate genuinely feels the pull to interact with others, but when he does, he often gets muddled in cynicism, lashing out at anyone who tries to get close to him. Anyone who knows him regards him with suspicion, and anyone who doesn't regards him with the same morbid curiosity one might have over a dying animal. In his disregard of love, he has stopped believing it exists, and it would take something truly miraculous to change that.
| Place Of Origin | Newark, New Jersey
| History | Nate's history is one wrought with self-inflicted pain and heartbreak. To start, he is recovering from a crippling drug addiction started in his waning high school years that both tore him and his family apart. It was near the end of his sophomore year that he first tried marijuana--which was nothing special, he had thought; everyone smokes marijuana at least once in their life. As he casually dabbled in the drug through his junior year, a friend of his introduced him to the wildly erratic effects of prescription pills. Nate tried this for a short time before ditching them, finding the results more trying on his stomach than his mind.
The summer before senior year was when he tried heroin first, and it was at that moment that he truly became an addict. It was at a summer beach house in Chincoteague, Virginia, where the sun was high and warm, the ocean soft and green, and the women were aplenty and willing. This beach house was used extensively by his friends as a drug hideout and mini-harem, and the things that went on behind its wind-washed doors could frighten even the most stalwart of hearts.
Regardless, Nate was hooked, and through senior year he experimented with wildly varying drugs of different qualities. The terrifying effects of PCP forced him to legitimately question whether his addiction was a sustainable habit, but it wasn't until he nearly ruptured a blood vessel from heroin use that his family finally got involved. Aware that something was wrong from the start--missing valuables, $1,634 missing from the bank--his parents instinctively placed him in a rehabilitation hospital, a move he so detested that one night--after a day spent drinking his parents' liquor--he stormed up to his mother and threatened to kill her if she sent him there.
That was the final straw, and his father promptly called the nearest psychiatric hospital, where he was taken away in a strait jacket and kept in solitary confinement for several weeks. Coming out humbled, emasculated, and thoroughly doubting the goodwill of mankind, Nate looked to an outlet. He found one in music. Combined with his natural proclivity for rhythm, he became quite good at the guitar, eventually signing up for night gigs in bars and nightclubs. The little money he made on the side was enough for his parents to begin to forgive him, but they figured he needed something else, something special. So, on his 24th birthday, they gave him a trip with several other people his age from across the world.
"To meet people who you can trust," his mother had said.
"To see the world and experience something magical," his father had said.
The naturally skeptical Nate had replied, "You should look at the tree outside our window."
But he complied, if only to assuage his parents' worry, and with low expectations for the future, he prepares for the next few weeks to be some of the dullest of his life.
| Extra | Nate actually has had several girlfriends, but none of them stayed with him. (Most were too overwhelmed with his issues to do so, and one left him because she thought his friend was better.)
One of the few people Nate loves and respects is his younger sister Phoebe, who was one of the reasons he tried to quit drugs in the first place.
It was no eventful moment in Aethelred's long, long immortality: he'd only stretched his arms before he made his first decision.
Aethelred began by fleeing. 'Twas what he was best at, truth be told; 'twas a gift he was not entirely proud of, but a gift with which he was bestowed. His flaky soul had never felt so lost at that moment, at the moment of his freedom, that it took a while to flee at all, and when he did, he didn't know where to go. The other Children seemed as sure of themselves as they could be in the moment, but fragmented and smashed up. They reminded him of the glass figures on game boards, like so many pieces sent to be smashed against the reinforced defenses of the vague evil of their opponent.
Aethelred's flight had slowed as soon as he left the Pit.
The world, at once as small to him as his finger, was foreign and strange beneath his feet. The craggy rock that speared into his boots felt not like some earthly stuff, nor did the wind on his cheek remind him of the happy breathing of a sated country. This was a world he did not know; a world that had changed over the many, many, many years. In short, Aethelred was lost. Worse than that, Aethelred's bow had vanished.
This problem seemed to solve itself soon enough when Aethelred came upon some lusty forest of little importance save the fact that it had yew branches. Aethelred spent the day of his escape fashioning a new bow out of the finest of these, six foot long when finished, with a strip animal pelt as a bowstring. Shouldering the white bow--for which he lacked arrows--he made his way out of the forest and began to recognize his surroundings.
Skulking across the north was the distant line of the Treacherous Sea, an indigo swell that gashed deep into the land, speared as it was with bald patches and forests.
To the East were the mountains. They rose like they did, only if to explain that they were there to stay. Legend has it that the mountains will grow continuously. Aethelred's eyes traced the tallest peak; a few thousand years had not ruined the view.
To the left--some westerly point on the horizon--there was the glow of the great Capital Analos silhouetted against the setting sun. The rising spires of the city touched off the awe that all travelers experience when approaching, but it is the glow that Aethelred always remembered. No other place gave off such a light, such a positive orb of energy so densely packed that it could be called the sun.
"This Earthly star," he mumbled to himself, "Damned Earthly star."
It was the place that he knew he could not go, at least not yet. The only approach to the city from this direction was the series of gates of the Red Palisade, and it would be easy for any Anglonian to recognize him.
"Not so easy to revere, eh?"
Aethelred watched the city for several minutes before retiring back to the small forest, nestling his body in the crook of a tree limb. Rather than pray like usual, Aethelred slowly recounted the names of all the important landmarks in Etruscia.
"Heaven's Gate..."
A small grunt.
"Three Tree Glen... Laughing Forest... Babel-Fish Cove..."
Aethelred's eyes slowly started to close.
"...Gewisse... Port of Revene... Oldtown..."
The night air kissed his cheeks, the dewy angel descended from on high, and a tear welled in a singular eye.
Aethelred of Anglonia/"The Sparrow Lord"/"The Shadow Soldier"
Description
Aethelred is perhaps the most silent of all the Children, choosing neither to interact with or engage any of his counterparts. His face is somewhat vague, as if the skin itself doesn't want to be seen. The dark cloak he always wears seems to not be made of any earthly fabric, and it isn't entirely clear that he has a body at all. At one moment he can be as opaque and fleshy as a human. In the blink of an eye, his form is impossible. This troubling appearance does not at all represent his true nature however. Possessed with a diehard loyalty for the Angel cause, he was an unsung warrior fighting on the front lines, seeking no rewards and indeed receiving none. Fleet-footed and knowledgable of the land, he was employed as a ranger in the war between the Demons and Angels.
His clothing is black, his skin either a deep pink or deathly white. His eyes are a piercing gray, forfeiting nothing as they stare coldly, emotionlessly at whomever should approach him. He is quiet and reserved, intentionally avoiding contact with anyone if he can. When he does speak--which is rare--it is in broken phrases somewhat difficult to understand. Cryptic and reclusive, he has no close bonds with any of the other Children. Choosing to fight for the side he sees as morally right, Aethelred is thoroughly disillusioned by Eyra's betrayal, and he has become even more distant as a result. He views others only as vessels to accomplish his higher goals, and as such can be somewhat dismissive of hatred or love.
His bow is his most prized possession. It is crafted from the finest yew branch that Nerine will allow him, equipped with the finest arrows Kozz can make. He is an excellent shot, though certainly imperfect. This bow is often slung over his shoulder, as he is somewhat unrealistically paranoid it would be stolen.
Powers
Aethelred has personally resolved to use his powers as infrequently as possible. As such he usually equips himself with a bow made of yew and ordinary--though well-made--arrows. If pushed, however, Aethelred is capable of dissolving into shadow, traveling into a parallel realm and "ghosting." He is nearly untraceable when he is doing this, and should he find it necessary, he could pull someone into this dimension and "leave" them there, essentially wiping their physical being from existence (were he to perform this trick on one of the Children, however, he would merely dispose of their body, as Children are immortal). But as mentioned before, he only does this in the most dire of circumstances, preferring instead to use his own mortal abilities to sneak around the battlefield and loose well-aimed volleys.
Original Tribe
Aethelred is the original member the Anglonian tribe that inhabited modern Etruscia until summarily assimilated by the Etruscans. A small tribe that valued flexible warfare and mobility, the descendants of this tribe typically fill the archer ranks of the Etruscan military, proving to be dead-eye shots with a bow. Anglonians as a general rule felt no pain in being subjugated, as they, by nature, lacked central authority. Aethelred, having founded the tribe, left the members to flesh out a culture while he occasionally assumed the war chief title.
The closest thing Anglonians have to a capital is the small town of Gewisse, made famous for its archery school and not much else. Following the decline of the Gebhards (who were an oligarchical society that attempted to centralize the Anglonian realm), the Anglonians engaged in a diaspora across Etruscia, eventually settling in small, sparsely-populated pockets of the province as farmers, soldiers, doctors, and other serving jobs.
The Anglonians are fiercely loyal to whomever they serve, but should their former masters be vanquished, they will not find it strange at all to quickly bow to their new conquerors. It is through this period of submissiveness that many aspects of Anglonian culture remain. Anglonians speak their own language unlike any other tribe, and Anglonian children typically learn Anglonian traditions before Etruscan traditions. By the time of The Betrayal, Anglonians had fought long and hard on the Angels' behalf. The seizure and incarceration of their founder had little effect on Anglonian life, as Aethelred had never been revered as a leader or even as a creator.
Faction
Angel. Aethelred fought for the Angels and asked no reward. He views the Angel cause as inherently good, but Eyra as an inherently wrong leader for that cause.
Anecdotes
Aethelred is not accustomed to feel, so when The Betrayal brought legitimate feelings of hurt, despair, confusion, and anger, he was overwhelmed with what to do with them. He was steadfastly loyal to Eyra in the wars, and his loyalty being repaid with betrayal is the ultimate disillusionment. As such, by the time the seal holding his soul at bay breaks, he very quickly escapes and makes his way unseen, away from the carnage, away from the cities, away from anyone who noticed him. He knows he will have to kill Eyra for the sake of restoring honor, but for now he must mourn.
Before the incarceration, however, Aethelred often relied on his innate ability to train birds to help him with his tasks. Frequently sent on missions that involved him taking out a priority target alone, he would take a trained falcon with him that would report whether or not a target was in its place, whether or not he had hit said target, and whether or not someone was becoming suspicious that a falcon was circling. As such he is often called "The Sparrow Lord."
Faced with the daunting task of approaching Eyra's fortress, Aethelred plans to seek out like-minded Children and perform a surgical attack, one that cannot be foreseen even by the Seer herself.
Opinions
"Fought hard for you. Didn't pay well. Never see me coming."
Aethelred views Eyra as many of the other Angels do: a scoundrel that betrayed them. Before the Betrayal he was fiercely loyal, even respectful, of the woman. Afterwards he sees eliminating her as the only way to balance honor. He does, however, respect that wit, not physicality, brought her the greatest power on Earth.
"No fool makes jokes."
Aethelred lacks interaction with Kinion--as is common with most of the Children--but from afar he is suspicious of such a wantonly deceiving individual. He keeps his distance.
"Nice poems. Wisdom thus gained."
Aethelred does not respect wisdom so much as he respects worldly cunning. The monk surprises him as someone who might possibly disrupt that formula. He sees the monk as one of the few genuinely good Children, and is subsequently impressed by the quality of his advice.
"Lion seems angry."
Aethelred finds the unholy violence of Nod against his inherent morality, and it would not be too far to say that Aethelred is unhappy that he escaped.
"Need more arrows."
Aethelred finds the Forgemaster unparalleled in the ability to make weaponry. This translates as good arrows, a good knife, and not much else.
"Shadows are my specialty."
Azoth is the idealistic target that Aethelred has been seeking for his entire existence. His desire to hunt down and catch this demon has brought him to the brink of monomania, and as such he views Azoth with a certain grim respect. Their mutual love of deception and secrecy means nothing to Aethelred, but it does mean that he is the one target Aethelred sometimes just cannot catch.
"Like birds. Like Knowledge. Like knowledgable birds."
Therelon is one of the few Children that Aethelred genuinely respects fully. The fatalist logic of Therelon's existence rings true in Aethelred as well, and his respect for birds of prey only heightens his opinion for Therelon. Somewhat daunted by the expansive "family" that Therelon claims, Aethelred instead chooses to admire Therelon as a paragon of sorts, one of the few Children that is inherently good.
"Pale skin, pale skin. Remember the sun?"
Chinasa's loyalty to his people is admirable, but the position of god he holds over them does not suit Aethelred's principles. He regards this Child with something bordering on suspicion, and chooses not to interact with him, per usual.
"Can't die. Don't fear death. Don't fear you."
Aethelred views Tarthus as one would view a criminal, but he sees death as inevitable, and a worldly representation of death as an expected aspect of the universe.
"Good shot. Good eyes."
If any one Child could be a kindred spirit to Aethelred, it would be Aylin. Their similarities in personality and actions make Aethelred feel somewhat connected to her in a way unlike any other of the Children. In this manner he actually feels uncomfortable with her, not unlike a challenged Alpha. He respects her ability with the bow and freely admits that she is a better shot, but dislikes her lack of pure loyalty. Aethelred's connection to the shadows is the only thing that convinces him that they are not, indeed, related in some way.
"Ash the Afraid."
Aethelred views the shapeshifter as he views all unpredictable Children: with high suspicion.
"Don't want much."
Aethelred hates arbitrary destruction, but at least he's blunt.
"Met a dragon once. Didn't like dragon. Fought dragon. Killed dragon. Ate dragon meat. Didn't like dragon meat."
The massive spectacle of the Dragon King brings awe to anyone, including Aethelred, but this awe is short-lived, as the spectacle begets no more than what is shown up front. Aethelred is unimpressed, but this is not new. His real respect towards Kilgarrah lies in the latter's adherence to a moral code of honor. The dragon warrior provides a somewhat novel idea for Aethelred, as he both respects and despises him. Aethelred, confused thusly, does not choose to speak with him.
"The hell is a Shakti?"
Aethelred is constantly reassessing whether or not he should be suspicious of or respect this Child. Suspicion is the safe choice.
"Smooth skin. Almost like it wasn't even there."
Aethelred only wants the best for the universe as a whole, and Nefas Sen seems no different. Yet he feels uncomfortable around her in the same way one would feel uncomfortable around a neighbor who is far too kind. Aethelred keeps his distance.
"Lovely forest you've got."
One of the few thing Aethelred reveres is the forest. The living personification of the forest gains his respect as well as his humble supplication for the occasional yew branch when his bow snaps.
"Didn't dream. Thought you could help."
Aethelred views selfish betrayal as the ultimate vice. He holds little respect for Estoil.
"Just skin and bones. Without skin."
Aethelred has nothing against Zaphesto, and his diligence in protecting his people begets respect.
"Driven mad by desperation. What a pity."
While he respects the tenacity and magnanimity of Grindelhooke, he views his supporting the Demons as the completely wrong solution to his problem. Knowing that such a loss only emphasizes an issue tenfold, Aethelred promptly began his campaign to protect the forests from human incursion.
Member
